


Mad About the Boys

by suburbanmotel



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Best Friends, Blood and Injury, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Hospitalization, Kissing, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Oral Sex, Promise, no one dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 16:59:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12730629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suburbanmotel/pseuds/suburbanmotel
Summary: (The first time I meet them it’s a beautiful summer evening at a party of some kind. I don’t know. I’m not really paying attention. All I know is that someone is drowning. Someone is dying and I’m waiting for them to die. It’s my job and I’m happy to do it. I mean, someone has to, andyoudon’t want to, right? Right. I’ve been doing it for millennia and I’ve never had an issue. Never given it a second thought.Until I meetthem.)Or: Five times Zayn and Liam cheat Death and then one more time for good measure.





	Mad About the Boys

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a Death Fic. No one was harmed in the writing of this story.
> 
> Except maybe the Author.

\--

1\. Near Drowning (it’s all fine until it suddenly isn’t)

 

(The first time I meet them it’s a beautiful summer evening at a party of some kind. I don’t know. I’m not really paying attention. All I know is that someone is drowning. Someone is dying and I’m waiting for them to die. It’s my job and I’m happy to do it. I mean, someone has to, and _you_ don’t want to, right? Right. I’ve been doing it for millennia and I’ve never had an issue. Never given it a second thought.

Until I meet _them_.)

\--

(When they are very young and have their whole lives ahead of them, they don’t think about me much. They never do, though. I’m used to it, and really, it’s fine. What young, fit, healthy boy gives a second thought about Death?

I don’t pay much attention to their lives before I come for them, the humans. There’s no point, really. They’re born, they live, they die. _How_ they live and die is really of no importance to me.

I’m very busy, obviously, and have a lot to get done in a day. I have no time to get emotional over the humans I’ve come to take. As the old saying goes, when it’s their time, it’s their time and sadness and empathy serve me no good.

But contrary to popular belief, I’m not a monster. I try very hard to make the passing as comfortable as possible, if I can. I have no desire to frighten anyone. Sometimes, when I come, I’m the mum you lost when you were 10 years old. Sometimes I’m the brother who died in the car crash, the grandfather who passed of lung cancer. I’m genderless. Faceless. But you will recognize me when you see me and you won’t be afraid.

I make sure of that.)

\--

It starts at a party.

It’s a launch event in some famous producer’s gigantic backyard and Liam still has to pinch himself that this is Real and this is his Life now. Well, for the time being. Until it all disappears because it has to disappear, right? This can’t possibly last. Singing and recording and performing with his _boys_. It’s all too good to be true and nothing this good can last forever, there’s just no way. So, he will try to enjoy it for as long as possible and not worry about what lies ahead. He will try very hard. He pauses at the patio doors, overwhelmed by the noise and the people and the music. He briefly considers turning around and heading back inside to collect himself and calm his nerves when he feels hands on his shoulders, hands that are familiar to him already. Then there are lips at his ear, soft hair brushing against his cheek.

“Pretty sick, huh?” It’s Zayn, mouth close to his ear, voice slightly breathless, grinning, grinning, eyes bright, taking it all in and obviously loving it. “I can’t believe it’s actually happening. I mean, where _are_ we? _Who_ are we?” And Liam melts at that, because of course, of course Zaynie gets it, like he gets everything about Liam, without Liam even having to say a word.

Liam nods and swallows dryly and tries to smile.

“Hey,” Zayn says, noticing his stiff posture, rigid mouth. “You ok?”

“Yeah.” Liam nods again, looks away from Zayn’s beautiful concern, out at the party, the throngs of people he doesn’t know. He sighs. “It’s just.”

“Surreal,” Zayn says, nodding along.

Liam sighs, happily this time. He grins. “Yeah. That’s the perfect word. Surreal. It is.”

“It really is,” Zayn says. He squeezes Liam’s shoulders, pushes his head gently against Liam’s. “Don’t worry. It’s gonna be all right, yeah? No matter what. Because we always have each other, yeah?”

And justlikethat, all of Liam’s anxiety vanishes. Because of _Zayn_. And in that moment there are a thousand things he wishes he could say out loud, things that beat wildly against his ribs more and more these days, words and thoughts and images he’s not sure he will ever be able to properly articulate, so instead he just smiles and smiles and says, quietly, “Thanks.”

Zayn nods like it’s _nothing_ , like he has no idea the impact he has, and he squeezes once more and says, “Go have some fun. I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”

And then there’s hours of mingling and backslapping and hearty congratulations and promises of fame and riches and adoring fans. Liam meets a hundred people it seems, sees his boys fleetingly as they’re all passed along, hands clasped, eyes wide, smiles so big they could break your heart. Photos are taken and drinks held high and music blares and it gets steadily darker and Liam feels fine through it all, and it’s all ok, really it is.

Until it suddenly isn’t.

\--

It’s full dark when it happens, the massive backyard lit with fairy lights and torches placed artfully along the path and around the pool. Voices are louder now, drunker, higher. Liam is done, fully exhausted and ready to leave. He spots Harry and Louis deep in conversation with three men he vaguely recalls meeting at some point, and Niall is actually strumming his guitar with a group of musicians that Liam should be star struck over, but cannot find the energy to do. But Zayn. Liam stands still, scanning the dark yard, eyes straining. He hears shouts and whoops and hollers as about 25 people suddenly jump, or fall, or are pushed and thrown, into the pool at once. There are slurred shouts and indignant squeals, a lot of laughing, a lot of swearing. Liam sighs and checks his watch. It’s nearly midnight. His head hurts. He wants to find Zayn. He wants to go _home_. Simon promised a car service whenever they were ready and he’s more than ready. He was ready hours ago and where has Zayn gotten off to, surely he wouldn’t have left without him Liam was having a good time he was and everything was fine it was ok—

_until it suddenly isn’t_

Because there’s screaming. A high, long, drawn-out scream from the pool and Liam looks and sees why someone is screaming. Someone is screaming because there’s a body, floating amongst the swarm of other bodies, a body small and dark and impossibly still lying facedown in the deep end of the pool, floating, floating. And someone is screaming, screaming nonstop. And Liam knows suddenly without a doubt who it is. Not the someone screaming. The someone floating. It’s the only possibility and he can’t move. He’s rooted in place, gone entirely completely still, carved of stone, immobile. He watches from a great, long distance as strangers’ hands lift and drag and pull the floating body out and up over the side of the pool, turn the body over, press on the body’s still chest over and over and over and over.

And Zayn’s beautiful empty face gazes up at the beautiful night sky.

\--

(And this is where I come in, where I make my grand, yet quiet entrance. He is so close, so close to letting me take him in that moment. I watch the whole thing happen, detached and distant as always, see the horde of drunken partiers fall and slip and push one another into the dark water, paying no mind to whoever possibly did not want to go under with them. And caught in the middle is him, _Zayn_ , is his name I learn. He was standing near the edge, lip caught up in his teeth, scanning the yard for the other boy, _Liam_. Oddly enough they are looking for each other at the exact same time. Is it odd that I notice that? Maybe. But because he isn't paying attention, because he is searching for Liam, he is pushed in with the rest of them, caught up with flailing limbs and heavy bodies that hold him down, and he's hit in the head with more than a few elbows and feet as they tumble down and down. And it is dark. And it is sudden. And he can’t swim. Did I mention that? And he is yelling, which is never a good idea when you’re under water.

Do you want to know what he is yelling? I can tell you, if you want. He is calling for _Liam_. Over and over, that one word.

And Liam is standing not 30 feet away looking for him.

So he panics, and his lungs fill up fairly quickly, and he can't find his way up to the surface, and there are so many people who don't know he can't swim and needs help and is dying right there in the pool. Coincidentally, approximately 19 percent of people drown due to unexpected falls into water, did you know that? Just a little statistic I’ve learned of late.

So yes, he is dying. It is so close. I am so close. I am right there, watching and waiting and then I see his face. The other boy’s face. Liam’s face. I see the expression on his face when he finally, finally realizes where Zayn is, what has happened, whose body is being yanked from the water, whose chest is being compressed again and again.

And I’ve never seen such agony in all my years.

You may think I’m being dramatic, but my heart could have stopped, had I my own. I stand there, waiting patiently for it to all be over for the drowned boy, but I can't look away from Liam’s crazed, anguished face, as if _he_ is the one about to die. As if Zayn’s imminent passing will be the end of him, as well.

And in that moment, I know I can't take him, not yet, not here, not like this. They are both so very young, painfully so, and even if they don't know it yet, so terribly, horribly in love.

So, before I think better of it, I move away. I step back and almost instantly Zayn’s sodden chest rises and falls, and again, and he coughs and they turn him over and his water-filled lungs heave and he is breathing once more. And I move further away and watch Liam race across the lawn to fall at Zayn’s side, yelling and crying and holding his shivering body and he may even kiss his face more than once, but I can’t be sure.

See? I could have taken him right then. It is so close, he was so close to the edge, to me, to slipping from alive to not. But instead I move away and watch because I can't bear to part them.

I know I’ve made the right choice.

And in that moment I realize how much trouble I am in.)

\--

2\. Pneumonia (it only hurts when i breathe)

 

(I don’t see Them, Zayn and Liam, for a few years after that, and for that I’m grateful. I mean, I would have been happy to not see them at all ever again until they were both in their 90s, but truthfully, I don’t give either of them much thought after the Pool Episode. The fact that they have their own Episode in my mind is no worry, really. Or the fact that I remember their names, and wonder, from time to time, how they are, and if they figure out how they feel about one another, and are still together, is no cause for concern. It really isn’t.

Really.)

\--

It starts as a cold.

They’re locked away in another generic, sterile hotel room in Los Angeles kissing and touching and kissing some more, because that’s something they do now, have done for awhile now, and Zayn honestly can’t remember a time that Liam wasn’t sewn firmly into the fabric of his life, a part of his heart, a piece of his soul, and every other cheesy loved up analogy he can think of, and they’re close to the break of their second world tour, finishing in Los Angeles before heading to Australia (Zayn still can’t wrap his head around it all and maybe never will but that’s ok) when he notices Liam’s sick. Like, really sick. He’s been poorly for the final two shows, sluggish and tired and oddly cranky, but Zayn puts it down to the grueling, nonstop pace they are enduring. They’re _all_ exhausted. And cranky. But with Liam it’s different, because he’s usually so even tempered, and calm, always.

Zayn has his hand firmly around Liam’s dick and his mouth firmly on the fluttering pulse point in his neck and Liam is groaning and gasping and arching and then he’s coughing, hard, head turning into the pillow, body convulsing. Zayn stops immediately, lifting up on one elbow, frowning.

“You ok?”

Liam doesn’t stop coughing.

Zayn sits up higher, frowning harder, hand moving from Liam’s rapidly softening dick to his shuddering chest.

“Babe. You all right?” Something tight and hot pulls in his own chest, something more than worry and more like _fear_ because Liam sounds. Well, he sounds _awful_. Worse than he did yesterday and the day before and this morning, even.

“Yeah,” Liam coughs, and coughs some more. “I’m fine.”

He keeps coughing.

“No,” Zayn says. “You’re not.”

And Liam keeps insisting he is, and Zayn keeps thinking he’s not, but Zayn relents and folds Liam in his arms and pulls him close, his hot, convulsing body close to his own, even as Liam protests and argues and says he’s ok he’s fine, it’s all ok, he just needs to rest, and he refuses to let Zayn call the doctor because it’s _nothing_ , it’s just a stupid cold, and eventually they sleep, twined around each other, even though Zayn wakes up every hour to check on him, to feel the temperature of his skin, to kiss his forehead, to press his hand to his heart, to listen and to wait.

And in the morning they’re rushing to pack and make calls and get to the car and get to the airport and Liam is coughing still but not as much, but he puts his hand to his chest, hoping Zayn won’t notice, but Zayn does, of course he does, and they’re flying home, and Liam sleeps almost the entire way and Zayn stays awake almost the entire way, watching, observing, touching hot skin from time to time to make everything is ok.

They separate in London, heading to their family’s homes, with promises to meet in a week, less than a week, more like two days, if Zayn has anything to say about it.

Liam nods dully before they slide into their separate cars, his face quiet and flushed, his breathing slightly laboured. Zayn fights back a sudden, overwhelming tide of panic (don’t let him go don’t let him go don’t let him) but then doors are slamming shut and wheels are turning and they’re off.

It’s later that night and Zayn is compulsively Facetiming Liam, has been for half an hour before Liam finally answers, his beautiful face tired and drawn and pale, his voice slightly winded, but he’s smiling anyway.

“Hey,” Zayn says, leaning close to his laptop screen. “Hey, you.”

“Hey,” Liam says in return, turning his head slightly. “Miss you.”

“Saw you this morning,” Zayn says, but then he knows it’s all wrong. “I miss you too. I miss you more.” He pauses. “How are you feeling?”

Liam sighs. He seems to deliberate for just a moment before he bites back a cough. “Not. Not great.” He coughs, one hand pressing against his chest again. “Mum’s taking me to the doctor first thing tomorrow.” He sighs. “I have no choice.”

A flood of relief and worry and guilt fills Zayn’s chest. “Ok. Ok. Good. Good. Good?” He stops. “Text me right after, ok? Just to let me know.”

“Ok.” Liam sighs again, looking wrecked, more tired than Zayn can ever recall.

“Promise?”

“Yeah.” Liam smiles.

“ _Promise?_ ” Zayn leans closer to the monitor, expression intent. He can’t fight down the flickers of panic lighting in his chest.

“ _Promise_.” Liam smiles wider. “Love you, Zaynie.”

“Love you _more_.”

\--

When he hasn’t heard by noon, when his numerous texts have gone unanswered and his phone calls to voicemail, the flickers burst into flames and he calls Karen’s mobile, fingers trembling, throat clenching.

“Liam’s in hospital, love,” Karen says, her words soft and broken. She’s been crying, Zayn knows. He can hear it plain in her voice. “I’m so sorry I haven’t called yet. Liam did ask me to, but.” She draws in a shaky breath. “It’s pneumonia. Both lungs, they think.”

For a moment Zayn can’t speak. He simply can’t find any words. Then, “But, he’s going to be ok, right? I mean. He’s being taken care of now.”

“He’s on some pretty serious antibiotics. They’re.” She stops, sniffles. “They’re worried about the fluid in his lungs. He was in a lot of pain this morning, more than he’d admit to, I’m sure.” She stops again. She starts crying a bit more in earnest and then Zayn is crying too and they both try to comfort each other even though they can’t hear what the other is saying very well. Finally, she gives him the hospital room details and he says he’ll be there soon and he hangs up and scrubs at his face viciously with his numb hands and that’s how his sister finds him, forehead pressed against the wall of the kitchen.

Safaa listens with wide eyes, then throws herself against Zayn’s chest, her face wet with tears.

“People _die_ from pneumonia,” she says, her voice heavy with certainty. “Jovan’s aunty died last year, Zayn. It happens. And that actress, _you_ know, she died too. People die. Pneumonia is _serious_.”

“No one is going to die, Saf,” Zayn says, his voice angrier than he means to sound, because he knows it’s true. He knows. He knows. He feels so sick he might throw up. “Liam is _not_ going to—” and here he pauses, his voice choking, his heart thudding. “No one is going to die. Liam will not. He. He _won’t_.”

He gives her one more solid hug, then calls his security detail to arrange for a ride to the hospital. He wipes his face and attempts to arrange his hair and waits for the car and tries to not think about anything at all.

\--

He’s suited up in a gown and mask and gloves before he’s allowed in to visit and he’s grateful so much of his face is covered because he knows he’s going to start crying as soon as he gets in there.

He starts crying as soon as he gets in there.

“Hey babe,” Zayn says, trying to keep his voice steady as he moves carefully closer. Liam looks so small, and so still and tired. He shouldn’t be here. He should be bouncing off the walls, going for a run, rolling in bed with Zayn for hours and hours, not here hooked up to pumps and bags and looking pale and worn. “How are you feeling?”

“Ok,” Liam says, smiling and squinting like he’s just seen the sun for the first time in weeks. “It only hurts when I breathe.”

Zayn tries to muster a laugh at that but can’t. He just can’t find any of this even remotely funny and he moves closer still, takes Liam’s clammy hand in his own gloved one. Liam squeezes it and smiles.

“I’m so so sorry,” Zayn mumbles, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them. “I should have made you see the doctor, I should have forced you. I knew you were sick. I knew you were sicker than you were letting on and I know how stubborn you are and and—”

“Zayn,” Liam says, frowning. “You didn’t—”

“I did,” Zayn plows on, voice hoarse and shaky. “I know you better than anyone and I should have just fucking dragged you to see someone and maybe we could have prevented all this, like, a week ago. I’m so sorry, babe.”

“None of this is your fault,” Liam says and he looks even more exhausted. “And since when have you ever made me do anything I don’t want to do?”

Zayn sniffles and does manage a tiny laugh at that. He just wants to climb into bed with him and hold him and kiss him and make everything better. He wants to take him home. He wants to go back in time and fix it.

“Wish you could lie down with me, too” Liam whispers, like Zayn said it all out loud. Maybe he did. Liam’s eyes start to droop.

“Oh, Liam.” Zayn touches his forehead, his cheek. He doesn’t want to look away. He doesn’t want to leave.

“Just gonna sleep for a bit, ok?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“It’s gonna be ok, right?” Liam sighs. “I mean. I’m gonna be ok?”

“Yeah, of course.” Zayn’s heart hammers. His tongue feels heavy and too big for his mouth. “Yeah. Of course you are. Everything is going to be fine.”

“Ok.”

“I love you, ok? I love you.”

Liam sleeps.

\--

(I don’t think anyone realizes how close he comes to passing that night, not even the doctors. The little girl is right, of course, that pneumonia is serious and people die from it, even young, healthy people who have their whole lives ahead of them. Over the years I’ve become rather an expert at a host of infectious and viral diseases and how they shut the body down, bit by bit. At 3 a.m., the Witching Hour, as some humans refer to it, Liam’s considerable _pleural effusion_ worsens, becomes infected and I am there, ready to take him when he awakes suddenly, in a panic, unable to breathe, and gasping out one word.

 _Zayn_.

And I stop. I stop moving toward him and I just watch, intrigued. Because this is the one person he thinks of in the last moments of his life, in the moments before death and, I admit, it catches me off guard. It touches me. I don’t know why. I still don’t. All I know is that he is in fingertip’s reach of grasping my hand and he whispers that name and I stop. I can't do it. So, again, I move away, and let the doctors fill the room and do what they need to do to save him, to drain his lungs and fill him with more antibiotics and contact his family — and I can just imagine how receiving that phone call from the hospital in the middle of the night went over — and by morning he is stable and finally feeling better. His parents and sisters and Zayn are there, but Liam only has eyes for Zayn, and Zayn only has eyes for Liam and I watch it all from a great distance so as not to disturb a thing.

Why do I stay?

I don’t know.

I’m realizing this could be an actual problem.)

\--

3\. Appendicitis (completely useless but potentially deadly)

 

(I try to stay away. Really, I do, but these boys are accident prone, apparently, and like to tempt fate, in their way. I’d rather not see them hurt, or in pain, or needing my possible assistance, because I’m really busy and they’re not the ones I want to take, if I can avoid it.

In all honesty, I’ve become rather fond of them, but that’s between you and me.)

\--

It starts as a stomach ache.

They’re in the middle of the third tour, finishing Madrid before heading to Portugal and then Toronto in a few weeks when Zayn notices the twinge, down low on the right side of his abdomen. He puts it down to indigestion, or a pulled muscle, but it doesn’t go away. It continues to get worse.

“What does it mean when it hurts right here?” he asks Louis when the concert has ended and they’re getting ready to fly home, fly away. He points at the spot. Louis peers down.

“Well, that’s where your appendix is, just sayin’,” he says, then straightens up. “Probably nothing, though.”

Zayn nods thoughtfully.

“I mean, if it was your appendix, you’d be in massive pain, yeah?”

Zayn nods again.

“You’re not in massive pain, right?”

Zayn shakes his head and smiles.

“Perfect. You coming out with us tonight?” Louis means partying, of course, and Zayn can honestly think of nothing he’d like less than drinking and dancing and possibly puking and a definite hangover before the next concert in two days time.

“Na, bro. Gonna stay in and have a quiet night.”

“With Liam?” Louis laughs. “Cuz I think he’s coming with us.”

Zayn shrugs. “He needs it. Got too much energy for his own good.”

And Liam does go out with the boys and Zayn does stay in because he’s exhausted and hurting and wants to sleep and wake up feeling all better.

Liam stumbles into their room past midnight, drunk but not smashed, hair disheveled and smelling of weed. Zayn had been asleep up until half an hour before, but the pain had started up again and he is wide awake and reading, curled on his side, bedside lamp on low.

“Hey beautiful,” Liam says quietly. He kicks off his shoes, peels off his shirt and jeans and kneels beside the bed, tousled head dropping onto the sheets beside Zayn’s hand. Zayn rubs the sweaty hair affectionately, love blooming in his chest, pain almost forgotten.

“Have fun, then?”

Liam nods with a hiccup. “Did. Missed you, though.”

Zayn keeps rubbing Liam’s head. “I wouldn’t have been much fun tonight.”

Liam peers at him then, frowning and straightening. “Zaynie. Are you…are you _crying_?” He sounds a bit panicked as he touches Zayn’s wet face with one slightly sticky finger.

“Sad book,” Zayn says, holding up _The Book Thief_ for Liam to see. Liam nods and smiles. And it is a sad book, tremendously sad and heartbreaking, but it’s more than that, and Liam seems to sense it. “Is that all? Are you sure?”

Zayn shakes his head then, putting the book down and closing his eyes. “My stomach…hurts. It’s getting worse. Like. A lot worse.”

Liam sits up straight, suddenly completely sober. “What do you mean? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m telling you now.”

“Zayn—”

“Louis thinks it might be my appendix. Maybe.”

Liam gapes. “ _Louis_ knows? You told him but not—”

“Actually, Liam,” Zayn says, sitting up a bit, face contorted. “I need you to go get Paul. Right now. I think I need to go to hospital.” And then he doubles over and lets out a long, low moan that had been building behind his lips.

Liam runs.

By the time they return Zayn is biting back screams and needs to be carried down the elevator to the back entrance where an ambulance has miraculously and speedily arrived.

“I’m going with him,” Liam babbles, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet as they quickly load a now writhing Zayn onto the stretcher and into the back of the van. “I’m going. I’m going with him—”

“ _I’m_ going with him,” Paul says, voice loud and firm, but Liam can hear the vibrating panic just underneath. “I’m going. Obviously.” He pauses, takes in Liam’s wide frantic gaze, fingers clenching and twisting together in front of him. “You’ll follow behind, yeah? I’ll keep you posted.”

Liam nods but doesn’t respond as Paul slides into the ambulance with the attendants. The doors slam and they glide away, lights turning, sirens blaring.

“He’s gonna be fine, mate,” says Louis, who has suddenly appeared with Harry and Niall close behind. “I personally know tons of people who’ve had their appendixes…appendices? Out. Easy peasy.” He puts a hand on Liam’s shoulder. Liam barely refrains from smacking him in the face and pulls away abruptly.

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me he was hurting? We were out all night _dancing_ and you knew the whole time! I thought he was just tired!” Liam crosses his arms in front of him and breathes heavily. He feels like he’s suffocating.

Louis shrugs. “It was just a guess, Liam,” he says. “It could have been anything. It wasn’t this bad when he told me. Honest.”

“Fuck off,” Liam says and he actually means it.

“Hey, Liam,” Harry says. “That’s not fair. Lou—”

“You too,” Liam says. He’s starting to cry. He can’t help it. “All of you just fuck off.” He covers his face with his hands and remains still as he feels the boys encircle him and hug him and he waits for someone to take him to see Zayn.

\--

The appendix bursts before they get him to the hospital and the surgeons are waiting and they operate immediately and it goes well but it’s difficult for awhile as they attempt to contain the possibility of infection.

Liam and Paul are waiting in his room when they finally wheel Zayn in, high and happy on pain meds, smiling wide when he sees Liam and reaching out an unsteady hand.

“It’s you,” he says. “You’re here.”

“Of course I’m here,” Liam says, finally able to breathe, sagging under the weight of his worry. “Where else would I be?”

Zayn takes hold of Liam’s hand and pulls it close. He licks it. “You taste good,” he says. Paul rolls his eyes and the nurse laughs as she makes Zayn as comfortable as possible. Liam blushes.

“You can stay here overnight, if you want,” she says to Liam, indicating a reclining chair in the corner of the room. “He’ll be ok for awhile, but when the pain medication starts to wear off, I’m sure he’d like your company.”

Liam blushes again and nods furiously and looks to Paul for confirmation and Paul only shakes his head and shrugs, like, As if I could keep you away. Of course he’ll be staying here. Where else would he stay tonight?

He tries to settle on the chair but it’s near impossible as the hours pass and Zayn’s meds wear off and he’s writhing and moaning again, just like he was _before_ the fucking appendix burst, and Liam rings for the nurse who gives him what she’s allowed and it helps for a bit, and then it doesn’t. When he’s allowed more, he finally settles, eyes on Liam’s face as Liam hovers over him anxiously.

“Hey,” Zayn whispers in the near dark of his room.

“Hey,” Liam whispers back. He’s holding Zayn’s hand. Zayn doesn’t try to lick it this time. He wonders if Zayn even remembers.

“My stomach really fucking hurts, man,” Zayn says.

“I know.” Liam bites his lip. “At least you’ll never have to go through it again.”

Zayn manages a smile at that and closes his eyes. “I love you so much, Liam,” he says, drifting off. “And you do taste really good.”

\--

(The appendix is a funny little piece of the human anatomy. Completely useless but potentially deadly. If it perforates it spills infectious materials into the abdominal cavity, which can lead to peritonitis, which can lead to, you guessed it, death. And it is close this time, closer than I’m comfortable with for these boys of mine. Like the pneumonia incident, no one knows how close it was really is, before the antibiotics kick in, after the appendage is removed in emergency surgery, after he is wheeled to his room where Liam is waiting. I wait in the corner of the operating room, patient as always but nervous. Imagine that, _me_ , nervous. Actually _hoping_ that everything turns out for the best.

I don’t know what to say.

I don’t know what these boys have done to me.)

\--

4\. Car crash (it just wasn’t our time)

 

(Just for the record, I know they shouldn’t set out this day. It isn't safe. The weather is unstable, the roads icy and they are both in bad moods. If I could have warned them, I would have, like a concerned parent, I suppose. But as it is, I can only watch and wait.

And maybe help, just a little.)

\--

It starts with a snow storm.

Zayn has been ousted from the band and they have until March until he’s gone officially but it’s shit, it’s all shit and the thought of celebrating anything right now is just too much.

It’s three days before Christmas and they’re due at Liam’s parents’ house in a few hours and neither of them feels the least bit festive but the car is loaded with gifts and food and they’re on the road before noon, music playing softly and Zayn leaning his head against the window and watching the landscape, pale and grey, whip past. Liam is a good driver, always has been, but he’s distracted today, moody, out of sorts. Zayn can feel the unsettled tension vibrating from his pores as he grips the steering wheel. The roads are icy and it starts to snow. The sky is rolling with slate-grey clouds and the snow falls faster, thicker, obscuring vision from time to time. Liam stares straight ahead, shoulders pulled high with concentration or tension, Zayn’s not sure which.

“Maybe you should slow down a bit,” Zayn says idly. The cold window pane feels good against his temple. He wishes they’d stayed home. He wishes they were still in bed, sleeping. Or kissing. Kissing would be good.

“Maybe when you learn to drive you can make those kinds of decisions,” Liam snaps, and it’s such an _un-Liam-like_ thing to say that for a moment Zayn can’t speak.

He huffs out an astonished laugh. “What?”

The silence is very loud.

“I’m. Sorry.” Liam shakes his head once, tight. “I’m just. I’m trying to concentrate.” He pauses, slowing down a bit. “I don’t even know why we’re going today. Neither of us wants to and the weather is shit and. Everything. It’s wrong. It’s all wrong.”

Zayn sits up straight, looks over at Liam, at his clenched jaw and his clenched fingers, at the toll all of this is taking on him, on them.

“Babe—” he says. He’s reaching out to touch Liam’s thigh, to let him know it’s all going to be ok, when it happens. He feels the car shift, slide of its own accord, drift suddenly into centre of the road as Liam desperately tries to keep it steady, straight, away from the large lorry that is barreling down on them in the opposite direction.

“Zayn—” Liam shouts, a warning, a plea to hang on, to brace himself, Zayn isn’t sure which, but he grips the door handle and frantically tries to reach out to keep Liam safe, too, somehow. A crash looks inevitable, at least from Zayn’s inexperienced point of view, but at the last second, horn blaring, the lorry just skims past them and Liam readjusts and the car skids off the side of road, coming to a sudden, jolting stop on the edge. Their frantic, speedy breathing fills the interior of the car for several seconds, both of them unable to process what just almost happened.

“Are you ok? Liam?” Zayn twists in his seat, peering at Liam’s ashen face. Liam still hasn’t let go of the wheel, is still staring straight ahead. Liam nods at last, tears his gaze away from the now empty road, looks at Zayn.

“Are you? Are you ok?” He pries one hand loose, reaches shakily for Zayn, who takes it. It’s freezing. Zayn nods but he doesn’t feel ok. He feels sick. Liam nods. “Ok. I’m turning around. We’re going home.”

Zayn just nods again and sits ramrod straight as Liam drives, slowly, carefully, back from where they came.

\--

It’s dark when they finally pull into the drive. They’ve barely spoken, barely moved an inch in their seats. Every single muscle in Zayn’s body is pulled taut with tension. Liam calls his parents, says the weather is too bad, that they’ll try again tomorrow, or maybe the next day, he’s not sure yet. Yes, it’s unfortunate. Yes, they’re very disappointed too, but they did try. They really did. No, everything is fine, he’s just tired. Really. He loves them too. They both do. He hangs up. The house is quiet and dark. They move about it not speaking, not touching. They sit together and try to watch telly for a bit, but it’s all crap and finally, before they reach the breaking point, Liam jumps to his feet.

“I’m taking a shower,” he announces, like he’s declaring war, and stomps off to the bathroom. Zayn waits for an invitation that doesn’t come and sits in the quiet of their bedroom as the water runs and runs and runs and runs.

Zayn is lying flat on his back on the bed when Liam finally emerges in a cloud of hot steam, hair plastered to his forehead, cheeks red. He stands in the doorway, just staring.

“What?” Zayn asks at last. He can’t stand this, can’t stand that they’re like this right now.

“What if you’d died today, Zayn?” Liam says. His voice is strained but at least he doesn’t sound angry anymore.

Zayn pushes up on his elbows and stares right back. “What if we’d _both_ died?” he counters, but Liam is already shaking his head.

“No, no. That would be horrible, of course. But, what if _you’d_ died and I hadn’t? What then?” He seems to be waiting for an answer, so Zayn gives him the only one he has.

“What if only _you_ had?” he says, eyes narrowed, head tilted.

They stare at one another, breathing audibly. Liam’s hands are balled into tight fists at his sides. Zayn’s chest rises and falls. And then, both of them, at the same time:

“I don’t know what I’d—”

And they both stop and then Liam’s moving, moving towards the bed, crawling over him, onto him, hard against him, every part of their bodies tensed, coiled, ready to spring, fingers tight against shoulders and hips, lips hard against lips, teeth clashing as they nip and push and pull and pant into each other’s mouths. Liam’s skin is still wet from the shower, little drops of water dripping down onto Zayn as they kiss. His towel is wrapped around his waist and Zayn pulls it off, pushes Liam over, back onto the bed. Liam lands with a soft bounce and Zayn hovers above him, panting, watching. Liam is already hard — of course he is — and as he gazes up, Zayn’s expression changes from angry to confused to soft.

“You’re so. God, you’re so. The most beautiful. Liam.”

Liam blinks, mouth softening, all the earlier fear and frustration dissipating as he pushes up on his elbows and tugs at Zayn’s wrist. “Come on, then,” he says, like he knows what they need, what they both need. Zayn kneels above him, straddling his hips, still fully clothed, but he wants it this way for the moment. He wants to take Liam apart before they come together, because he know Liam needs that sometimes. Zayn dips low and presses light lips to Liam’s forehead, his cheeks, his nose, chin and mouth. He moves slowly, inhaling shampoo and soap and _relief_ as he goes lower, over smooth collarbones and hard nipples, making his way down Liam’s long torso that hitches under Zayn’s mouth.

“Zayn—” he breathes, as Zayn touches his tongue to Liam’s leaking dick, licking once, twice, moving up and down the length until he takes him fully in his mouth, hands gripping his bucking hips. Liam’s hands land in Zayn’s hair, pulling convulsively. Zayn keeps going, sucking and licking until he knows he needs to stop before it’s all over too soon.

“Knees up,” he whispers and Liam’s breath hitches before he complies. Zayn just looks for a moment, at the long lines and hard-edged planes and full lips of Liam’s body. “Yeah. Good,” he says. He grabs the lube from the bedside table and, fingers slick, pushes at Liam, into him, slowly, carefully, until Liam is twisting and moaning, lower lip caught hard between his teeth.

“Ok,” Liam says, high and hoarse. “Ok. I’m good. Ok ok ok ok ok—”

Zayn stops and looks at Liam, almost broken and so beautiful beneath him.

“Liam—” he says.

“You need to take your clothes off now, Zayn. Please.”

Zayn smiles and obeys, flinging off shirt and jeans and pants, slicking himself up in the process and sliding in between Liam’s trembling thighs, now wet with sweat instead of shower water.

“Come on, Zayn, please,” Liam says as Zayn continues to hover, his own hard dick just grazing Liam. “Please. I’m good, ok? I’m good.” And Zayn moves forward, sliding in, eyes falling shut at the glorious heat and tightness of it all.

It’s always good for them, this connection they have, the physicality of their closeness, it always works, but tonight it’s _more_ Zayn realizes as he moves, as he plunges again and again, Liam gasping and arching up against him, fingernails scrabbling against his back in their urgency to find some purchase.

It’s just _more_.

Zayn plunges deep into him once more, head falling forward, teeth grazing the taut, sweaty skin of Liam’s neck, before he comes with a shout, hips stuttering, fingers grabbing at twisted bed sheets and Liam’s arms. He reaches down and takes hold of Liam, then, pulling on his cock once, twice, as he frantically kisses the skin of his shoulder, his collarbone. Liam arches, head thrown back, one arms wrapping around Zayn’s back and holding on, holding on, as he comes, too, loud in the quiet, dark room.

Later, as they lie tangled and tired together, they finally speak about it.

“I was scared. Today,” Zayn says.

“Me, too,” Liam says. They’re whispering, because it feels right, not to say these words too loudly right now. “And I’m sorry. I am. I was driving faster than I should have. I just—”

Zayn leans over and kisses him, fully, softly on the mouth. He pulls back just a bit, enough to say, “But nothing did happen. Nothing. We’re fine.”

“Yeah,” Liam says. He pulls Zayn close, closer. He laughs.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. Just something I remember hearing somewhere once.” He kisses Zayn’s forehead. “I guess it just wasn’t our time.”

\--

(The lorry almost hits them. It does. It's almost a holiday double-fatality, a potential family tragedy that would have destroyed so many lives for so many years to come. It is closer than I care to say, and I know because I am there and, I’m almost ashamed to admit, I make sure it doesn't happen. Liam only avoids a head-on collision because the lorry driver has a small chest spasm. Just a little one, but enough to make him pull the wheel to the left enough to avoid the boys’ car. Don’t worry. He doesn't die. In fact he’s taking it as a warning and has vowed to quit smoking. Again.

Unethical? I don’t care. 

It's a dilemma, I have to admit. It could have been so _easy_ to take them both but once again, I step away. Once away I am _rooting_ for them, for their love.

I must be getting sappy in my old age.)

\--

5\. Stabbing (it’s all over so fast)

 

(If I could only bottle what they have, these beautiful boys. Even at their worst they are better than most. If I could bottle it, oh the things I could do.)

\--

It starts with a fight.

It starts with a fight between the two of them and ends with a fight with a stranger that almost, finally, forever, ends one of their lives.

They’re on hiatus, writing their own material, performing their own venues, releasing their own albums and time alone together is hard to come by. Liam’s schedule, in particular, is grueling these days, traveling and performing for days, weeks at a time. For the first time in their relationship the strain of being apart for long periods of time takes its toll, though neither of them wants to address it directly.

And then there’s the bearding, the never-ending concealment of their relationship. And then the baby.

They don’t talk about the baby, ever.

But the tension is there, it’s always there these days, because neither one can completely avoid social media, the photos, the comments, the incessant questions, the ridiculous stunts that, on a good day, they can laugh about late at night in bed together, but on a bad day, can’t handle acknowledging at all. And they’ve always been good at resolving arguments, on the rare occasions they have them. And they are rare, even now, because they know when to back off and when to pursue. They know each other’s moods so well now that all it takes is a look or a gesture to understand what the other one needs, whether it’s silence or space or hugs or sex or six movies in a row.

Tonight Zayn needs too many things for him to even articulate and tonight it’s another industry party that Liam can’t get out of. He can’t. They both know this but it doesn’t matter. Zayn is stormy and Liam is anxious, both of them tiptoeing around as Liam gets ready.

“You…could come, too,” Liam says at last, just to say something. He suddenly wants him to come, badly. “You _were_ invited, you know. It’s. It’s a private thing. You could come.”

They both know he won’t but Liam is ever hopeful. He attends so few things these days and it’s fine, but it would help, tonight if he broke his own rules for once. Zayn just grunts, not looking up from his sketchbook.

“Just for awhile,” Liam tries again. “An hour, tops. I just have to put in an appearance. People would love to see you.”

“Liam.” It’s a warning, but Liam chooses not to take it tonight. He really wants him to come.

“We could even arrive separately and leave separately if you want, I don’t even care—”

“ _Liam_.” The tone is sharp now, the eyebrows drawn together.

A sigh. “I don’t want to fight.”

“So don’t,” is the reply and Liam knows he’s lost. And yet, a few minutes later.

“Are you sure you won’t?”

Liam is sure Zayn will snap now, tell him to fucking drop it already, but Zayn just shrugs instead, pulls his beanie down lower on his head. And Liam thinks for just a moment that he might, he might change his mind, but then he sighs and looks up at last, looks right at Liam and even smiles a bit. “Nah,” he says. “Have my mysterious bad boy image to maintain, yeah?”

Finally, Liam lingers by the doorway, fidgeting, unable to settle. “So. Yeah.” He pats his hair like he does when he’s nervous. “I won’t stay long.”

“You look great, babe,” Zayn says, looking him up and down. “Really great.”

Liam flushes at that, but still feels odd. He closes the distance between them, leaning down to brush his lips against Zayn’s, who sighs and lets his eyes flutter closed for a moment.

“I’ll wait up,” he says, tongue pushing up behind his teeth, touching Liam’s tongue as a tease.

“You better,” Liam says. He stops once more by the front door as a text pings through that the car is waiting. “Ok.”

“Bye,” Zayn says softly, as the door clicks behind him.

\--

(And this is the closest I get to taking one of them.)

\--

It all happens so fast.

Liam makes the rounds and shakes the hands and poses for photos and sips at one drink and checks his phone and his watch, waiting for the right time to make a graceful exit. It’s loud and dark and the right people are here saying the right things and he’s supposed to be here, it’s his job, but he can’t shake the uneasy feeling he left the house with. Finally, with 10 minutes to tick down before he can go, he sees it. A guy, drunk, unfamiliar, to him at least, pushing himself up against a girl on the dance floor. There are a lot of people surrounding them, but Liam watches, because to him, at least, it’s obvious she’s upset, that she wants him off. Liam looks around to see if anyone else is taking notice, but so far, nothing. The guy keeps at it, hands on her hips, her breasts, lips on her neck and she’s pulling away, not laughing, just struggling, face panicked and Liam moves towards them, planning only to step between and get him to back the fuck off but the guy is riled up, drunk and angry and Liam’s presence does nothing to calm him down.

“You ok?” Liam asks the girl, who looks grateful but still scared as she pulls away, nodding but moving away as fast as she can. The guy is stunned and turns all his anger to Liam, who raises conciliatory hands “Easy, mate. She looked uncomfortable.”

The guy moves closer. “Mind your own fucking business,” he says over the music and the shouts.

“All right,” he says, and moves to leave, he can finally _leave_ but he should have known better, because that uneasy, unsettled feeling suddenly swells and blooms as the guy’s face swells and blooms and then.

It’s a flash of metal amidst all the other flashing lights inside the club, bouncing off the ceiling and the walls and Liam doesn’t see it in time, but he definitely feels it, low in the back and to the side, where the liver lies. Liam stiffens and twists and lets out a yell that no one hears amidst all the other yells and then he’s dropping, hard, hands barely breaking his fall as he hits the floor. He lies on his side, hands frantically trying to stop the flow of blood. He knows he’s bleeding he can feel his blood running out of him but he doesn’t know what to do and he doesn’t know how to stop it and he doesn’t even know how to get anyone to fucking notice that he’s lying on the dirty floor of a nightclub possibly bleeding to death. And feet are kicking him in the back and the legs and the _face_ and he can’t make a sound, he can’t even cry, though that’s what he really feels like doing. And he wants Zayn. He’s never wanted Zayn so badly in his life and Zayn’s at home, angry and pouting and curled up on the couch or painting in his studio and Liam’s here with people who don’t really give a shit about him and Zayn won’t even find out his last thoughts were of him are always of him always—

There are hands on him at last, hands turning him over and people yelling but he can’t really decipher anything because his vision is fading and it sounds like he’s underwater—

—and he suddenly remembers that day, that horrible terrible day so long ago now when Zayn fell in the pool at another party and almost drowned he almost died that day and oh how life would have been if Zayn hadn’t been a part of it how is it even imaginable —

—and there’s more yelling, frantic now, but still more distant and his hands are wet and the floor is wet and the sharp acrid scent of blood is everywhere oh yes it’s his blood because some asshole fucking stabbed him—

—oh Zayn where are you—

—and he remembers the first time they kissed and the first time they really touched one another and the first time they made love and the first time they _fucked_ —

—the first I love yous and too many since to count—

—where _are_ you—

—and no growing old together and no kids and no no no—

—and—

—and—

—and then Zayn is there, right above him, face frantic and pinched and his mouth and moving and he might be screaming but Liam can’t hear anything anymore—

“You came,” he thinks he says. He’s thinking it, at least. He hopes he says it. “You came after all.”

And Zayn is gesturing to someone someone Liam can’t see and he hopes it’s an ambulance because he could really use one right about now.

And before he loses consciousness completely he looks right into Zayn’s face and smiles and says, because he means it and because Zayn needs to know: 

“I love you more.”

\--

(It is the closest either one of them ever comes to meeting me and they never even know)

\--

The door to the house swings wide and they both slip inside, quick and quiet as shadows, dropping bags and kicking shoes off, waiting for the dogs to come running, and they do, almost immediately. The housekeeper has gone for the day and they’re alone. Zayn made sure of that, wanting complete privacy for Liam’s first trip home from the hospital.

Zayn watches from the doorway as the dogs attack Liam, jumping and yelping, nipping with excitement, tails wagging hysterically. Liam crouches carefully, still sore but mostly healed, tired but happy to be _home_.

“Hey guys, miss me? Yeah. Missed you too. Yeah,” Liam murmurs, smiling so hard it hurts. He glances up at Zayn, eager to share the moment, then frowns when he sees Zayn has slid down the wall and is now sitting, head against his knees, shoulders shaking.

“Zayn?” he says. “You ok?” He stands with a small groan, walks over and places a hand on Zayn’s soft hair. “What is it?”

Zayn doesn’t answer, and his quiet sobs sound very loud in the high hallway.

“Zayn,” Liam says again, and he slides down to sit next to him, puts his arms around his shoulders and pulls him in, kisses his dark hair, rests his face on the top of his head.

“I didn’t think,” Zayn starts, voice muffled against his knees. “I wasn’t sure you’d ever. We’d ever be back here. Together.”

(And I’m not ashamed to admit I was there. I stayed and watched as they wrapped their arms around each other and held each other on the floor of their home as their dogs bounced and barked and the shadows lengthened and they stayed like that for a lot longer than I’ll ever admit.)

\--

+1. Old Age (we were something, back in the day, weren’t we?)

 

(And then they are both very old.

I know a few things about them, more than I should know about the humans, but as we all know by know, these two are different. I stopped questioning long ago, really. I know they got married along the way and had some children.

I know they made music together for many years, both separately and together.

I know they fought and made up and made love and made each other very very happy.

I know they love each other now more than ever.)

\--

It starts with a lifetime of memories.

They live together in a house built to accommodate old bones and tired joints. The private nurse, hired by their youngest, visits daily to help them with the tasks they most need help with, makes sure they’re taking their medicine, makes sure they’re both happy and ok.

They’re both very happy and ok.

They walk together and sing together when the mood strikes them. Zayn’s hands hurt when the weather turns cold and occasionally Liam’s stab scar twinges when there’s a storm rolling in.

Sometimes, late in the afternoon, they sit together in their back garden, when the weather is good, and they talk quietly, hands clasped between them. Today Zayn has pulled out an old album, tattered and worn, filled to bursting with magazine clippings and photographs and interviews his mum put together for them years and years ago. It may have been a wedding present, if he remembers correctly. Zayn turns the pages slowly, grinning and talking and pausing to show particular items of interest to Liam.

“Remember that?”

“Remember _that?_ ”

Remember?

_Remember?_

“We were something, back in the day, weren’t we?”

“We were, my love. We really were.”

“Look,” Zayn holds out a photo for Liam to peer at. “Look at us.” It’s an old photograph, taken when they were about 20. They are smiling, shining, arms around each other, pressed into each other, so completely totally in love anyone would be a fool not to see it.

“How could no one tell back then? How we felt about each other?”

“They were blind. I thought we were so obvious all the time. They way I used to look at you.”

“They way you _still_ look at me.”

“True,” Zayn laughs. “I can’t help it. You’re just as handsome now as ever.”

Liam rolls his eyes but smiles, eyes crinkling, like he’s just seen the sun for the first time in weeks.

\--

(That’s almost the end of the story, but not quite. Not yet.

I can’t do it. I can’t take just one of them and leave the other alone. I can’t.

I can’t.

I _won’t_.

I circle around and watch but I keep my distance, so as not to frighten them.

I’ve waited before.

I can wait.

I’m still waiting.)

 

\--


End file.
